Minute by minute death comes through the door,
Brazen this bony lad, warm bodies he steals,
It must surely be, because so cold he feels,
With not a rag for dress, he is froze right to the core,
One night my squeaky gate he enters,
The door ajar he takes a peek,
To bit hello, I was too weak,
Or send him back to sender,
Cold-blooded killer, yet devoid of any blood,
No beating heart, I feel or see,
An x-ray wandering there about, and free,
No restrictions has he got,
There ought to be laws and penalties,
Some sort of policing, to catch that thief,
For he causes so much grief,
He is a total nuisance I believe,
Last night again he came, asking for my sin,
Make a list he said; now early morn it was,
Time to change the dressing and the gauze,
Again took with him, shovel and a wing,
Friends we made I think, our stories did relate,
Of sins unending I told him on and on,
He grinned as usual, and come morning, soon again was gone,
Then at night, again, he’d press that squeaky gate,
So close we came, I bit him welcome night by night,
Patient and attentive he would listen,
The setting of the light his bones would glisten,
Gone again he was by morning light,
A friendly wrestling match we had, I won,
It must, I hurt his feelings so it seems,
No sooner morning light it beams,
Not a word he says, and in a wink he’s gone.©18/11/2010
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Love,
Eileen
Regis
I hope you keep winnin, my friend.
John
I like the originality of this piece - your phrasing and imagery. Eerie read, but an excellent one! Hugs,
Sheila
Blessings,
Christine